


ask again later

by ThaliaClio



Series: Guacamole [2]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Concussions, F/M, Foggy's eggs make a reappearance, Hospitals, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I can't stop, It was only meant to be a one-shot, M/M, Matt has no modesty, Matt is a damaged avocado, Mentions of Brett, Multi, OT3, Pre-OT3, Protective Claire, That one time Matt got a concussion and Foggy and Karen met Claire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:26:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4705958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThaliaClio/pseuds/ThaliaClio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one AU nobody asked for where Matt and Karen are neighbors.</p><p>“No. Nope. You, Mr. Murdock, have a massive bruise. Not just on your face. But on your brain. As a personal fan of your brain, the storage place of all your blind puns, sarcasm, legal knowledge, and cocktail recipes, I demand you give it a rest.”</p><p>Or the one where everyone thinks Matt should take better care of his brain, Karen and Foggy are worriers, and more omelets are had.</p><p>(Previously titled 'el abogado magullado'.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. bruised avocado

**Author's Note:**

> Not a sequel, but an elaboration on a throw-away line in 'up to you'. 
> 
> "Things like how Matt has loved people, even romantically -- a woman named Claire -- but has never been in love, not really, not enough for him or his partner.
> 
> (Foggy and Karen love her for loving Matt even after the relationship ended, and when they meet her at the hospital after Matt gets a concussion, they get it. She smiles when she sees them, knowing and smug. She winks when they volunteer to watch him overnight instead of a hospital stay.)"
> 
> Enjoy.

“Karen Page and Foggy Nelson?” The woman asks, staring at them and looking vaguely amused and very exasperated.

Foggy blinks rapidly. He knows this woman. Kind of.  He’s seen her picture and Matt talked about her. And Matt’s apparently talked about them to her.

“Um,” he manages.

“Yes,” Karen says, too fast and too anxious. “Yes, that’s us. We’re here for Matt. Matthew. Murdock.”

“Yeah, I know,” the nurse -- _Claire_ , Foggy’s worried, over-caffeinated, confused mind supplies -- says, amusement building and exasperation fading. “Come with me.”

Karen tugs Foggy’s hand a little too hard, and he stumbles after her. They trot behind Claire and Foggy tries to find words again.

“So. Uhm. You’re Claire. Temple?” He says, the words rolling and tumbling out of his mouth and now that he’s found them he can’t stop them. “Matt talks about you sometimes and I know you mean a lot to him and I just really want to thank you for calling us because I’m pretty sure we aren’t his emergency contacts and we might not have known he was in the hospital for hours or days or maybe _not at all_ because Matt doesn’t like to _worry_ people but I am and please, please tell me he’s not like brain damaged or disabled or --”

“Foggy,” Claire spins on her heel, cutting him off with an ‘I-know-something-you-don’t-know’ smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Karen is pink and wide-eyed and her nails are digging painfully into Foggy’s hand.

“Uhm,” he says again. _Thank you, Columbia._

“Matt’s okay, guys. He’s got a moderate concussion and some bruising, but nothing’s broken and he’s not dying. You going to be good and calm when we see him?”

Foggy takes a deep breath and Karen loosens her grip. They both nod.

“I’m sorry we had to meet this way,” Claire throws over her shoulder as they start walking again. “Matt needs more good people in his life. I’m glad he has you guys.”

And Foggy doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know how to tell this wonderful woman who Matt loves but doesn’t love, that for that statement alone he loves her a little too.

But Karen. Thank God for Karen, because without her Foggy would be hopeless.

“I am too,” she says quietly. “And we’re glad he still has you. He deserves some love.”

And Christ, but she could have been a great politician.

Claire smiles at them, nothing but fondness now, and it feels like a blessing.

“C’mon,” she says. “He’s right through that door. But, before we go in, a few warnings and ground rules.” Foggy feels likes he needs to take notes and very nearly pulls out his legal pad and pen. Only Karen’s clammy palm against his stops him. “I’m not going to tell you what happened. That’s Matt’s choice. However, I need you to be careful with him. His hearing and smell are more sensitive than ours anyway, but this is going to make it a lot worse.”

“So no breaking out into inspirational renditions of _Shake It Off_ or gifts of delicious brussel sprouts?” Foggy quips.

Karen smacks his chest at the same time Claire glares.

“That would be a no,” Claire continues. “He’s a little confused and might be a little slower on the uptake than usual. This part should be obvious, but his head hurts like hell and he’s miserable.”

Karen bites her lip. Foggy takes a shaky breath and squeezes her hand. Claire looks over them both, and Foggy can feel her consideration like a weight.

He’s really happy Matt still has her in his life.

“Alright. In you go.”

Foggy’s not sure what he was expecting.

When he first got the call, it was just a voice on the phone telling him that Matt was in the hospital and he needed to come down immediately. Karen had gotten the exact same call a minute later, but by then they had already claimed an early lunch and were halfway out of the building. The entire taxi ride he had pictured Matt missing a limb or comatose or dying or dead.

When he got the to hospital, Claire had found them almost immediately and assuaged the very worst of his fears. And now… Now --

Now Matt is lying in front of him and it’s both better and worse than he had thought.

There’s a thick, ugly bruise stretching out from Matt’s hairline that bleeds across his forehead and temple. It’s black and blue and and _ugly_ and Foggy hates, _hates_ that it’s on Matt’s face, hates that he can already tell the blood will drain and end up giving him a black eye for the ages. He hates the dark circles under Matt’s eyes and how pale he looks.

But -- _but_ \-- Matt is breathing and awake and _okay_. He’s okay.

“Matt?” Claire calls out, voice soft and barely above a whisper. “You’ve got visitors.

Matt had been facing the television -- Donut Showdown, Foggy notes absently. It’s that episode where they make the Comic-Con themed ones -- and the bruise looks impossibly worse facing him full on. He really wishes that Claire had told him what had happened -- _he doesn’t really because he knows that she’s keeping Matt’s trust but he really, really wants to hurt someone because no._

He blinks at them slowly and he looks so _confused_ and _lost_. Matt scrunches up his face and rubs at the eye under the bruise. Winces. Licks his lips. “Karen? Foggy?”

And he sounds so much like a lost child Foggy’s heart breaks a little, but the words break whatever trance he and Karen had been under and they’re practically running to his bedside.

“Yeah, buddy,” he says, careful to keep his voice at a whisper as he uses his spare hand to grab Matt’s on top of the blanket. “Got yourself a little beat up, huh?”

Karen smiles, soft and sad, and runs a hand through Matt’s hair -- opposite the bruise, because she’s careful like that -- and Matt sighs and squeezes Foggy’s hand.

“Gave us a bit of a scare,” she says.

Matt licks his lips again and his eyes flicker open. He scrunches his brow like he’s been asked a particularly difficult math question. “ ‘m sorry guys. Didn’t mean ‘t worry you.”

“We’re just glad you’re okay,” Foggy says and runs his thumb across Matt’s pulse.

Matt blinks hard. “Do-don’t you  guys have work?”

“Took an early lunch,” Karen says lightly.

“Yeah. I have this thing for hospital jello, and you gave me the perfect excuse,” Foggy adds with a joviality he doesn’t really mean.

He still has Matt’s hand in his, and he hopes Matt doesn’t mind the slight clamminess because there’s no way in hell he’s letting go anytime soon. Now, looking at the bruises on Matt’s face and hearing how confused he is, Foggy remembers Claire saying that she wouldn’t tell them what happened, that it was Matt’s business. Foggy remembers how angry she’d looked in that one moment. Foggy thinks this wasn’t an accident and he doesn’t really feel like joking.

“I’m sorry, Matt, but we’re probably going to have to keep you overnight,” Claire says from the foot of Matt’s bed. Foggy startles, too distracted by Matt and his own thoughts to notice her moving.

Matt’s frowns and his entire face crumples. He sounds small when he answers. “I don’t like hospitals.”

“Is it just for observation?” Karen asks, gently stroking Matt’s hair, trying to sooth him or herself.

Claire purses her lips. “Yeah. We don’t like to send people with Grade 3 concussions home without anyone to watch them.”

“We can watch him,” Foggy says casually and not at all quickly and eagerly.

Claire flicks her eyes between him and Matt and Karen and Matt and Karen and his still joined hands. She smirks. Karen is still looking at Matt and misses the expression, but Foggy blushes enough for both of them. He doesn’t let go of Matt’s hand either. She winks and Foggy blushes harder.

“Yeah,” Karen says, smiling soft and sweet. “We’re almost as at each others’ places anyway. What’s a night or two?”

Claire smirks harder if that’s even possible. Foggy still doesn’t let go of the hands he’s holding, but he does turn to look at Matt.

He’s smiling, eye crinkles out in full force without the sunglasses. It’s only a little bit dimmed by the massive bruise on a quarter of his face. “ _Thank you_.”

Karen and Foggy stay for half an hour before they go back to work, promising to be back as soon as they get off work at 8.

They’re back at the hospital at 7:30.

“I told them my cat got hit by a car,” Karen says. She then clarifies that she Batman did not in fact get hit and is instead probably napping in her window when Matt’s eyes get big.

“I said I had ‘gastro-intestinal issues’,” Foggy says. Matt scoffs at that one and says _you have the stomach of a goat. how the hell did they fall for that one?_

Karen goes to wheel Matt to the waiting cab, and Claire stops to pull Foggy aside while Matt bitches about not being an invalid all the way down the hall.

“Be careful with him” she says, voice and face deadly serious. “Both of you.”

Foggy nods. He doesn’t need to ask her what she means.

She looks at his face, examining him for -- something. Whatever it is, she must find it because she breaks into a wide sunny smile.

“Text me and let me know how he’s doing, yeah?” She says. “Matt has my number.”

Foggy smiles and laughs. “I’ll hijack his phone if I have too.”

Foggy goes for a hug and she reciprocates after a moment’s hesitation. He wonders if it’s weird. Decides it is. Decides he doesn’t care.

By the time he gets out to the parking lot, Karen has returned the wheelchair and is sitting with Matt in the cab.

“Sorry, last minute tips and tricks to the Care and Feeding of Matt Murdock,” Foggy say as he climbs in.

Matt frowns next to him. “I do not need care and feeding.”

“Okay, Mr. Concussion,” Karen says and pats Matt’s thigh. She leaves her hand when she calls out Matt’s address to the cabbie.


	2. secret snack cabinets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt is shameless and sleepy. Karen and Foggy are relieved and hungry.

The ride is short and mostly quiet. Foggy and Karen occasionally share the sights from the window with Matt.

“Some guy is naked in the crosswalk. He’s got way too much body hair. Looks kind of like Bigfoot’s smaller cousin,” Karen observes.

“Tony Stark is hosting another press conference about gentrification. He’s wearing red sneakers and a gold suit. It’s ridiculous. And I had no idea he was that short. Also I can see his hair gel from here,” Foggy critiques.

Matt just hums in response, scrunching his face every time the make a sharp turn or hit a pothole.

“Aaaaand we’re here,” Foggy declares, paying the cabbie as Karen pops open the door.

Matt refuses her hand when he climbs out, but sways dangerously, and both Karen and Foggy take an elbow to steady him.

“ ‘m good,” Matt says, licking his lips and blinking rapidly behind his glasses. “Just… dizzy for a second there.”

“C’mon, buddy,” Foggy says. “Let’s get you some new clothes.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he can see dirt on one side of Matt’s suit. The same side as his bruise, a though he’d hit the ground when he hit his head. He wants to wrap Matt in the softest things he can find and feed him warm soup while he and Karen cuddle Matt.

It speaks volumes that Matt doesn’t shake off their hands as they head up the stairs. Foggy can vaguely remember the minor concussion he’d given himself from falling off of the monkey bars when he was ten. His head had hurt for days and he’d been grumpy and sore for a week.

“Your place or mine?” Karen asks once they get up the stairs -- _the very, very long and steep stairs with no handrails or padding in case of falling_.

Matt licks his lips again. “Mine, if you don’t mind?”

“Okay,” Karen agrees easily, gently guiding him and gracefully ignoring the lack sureness in Matt’s normally confident voice.

Foggy fishes out his spare key to Matt’s place one handed, reluctant to let go of Matt.

“Okay, buddy,” he says as he pushes open the door. “In we go.”

Karen steps inside first. Matt trails after her, gently tugging Foggy by the elbow he’s still holding.

“And I even remembered to lock the door this time,” Foggy declare triumphantly, jingling the keys.

“But Hell’s Kitchen is such a safe neighborhood,” Matt says drily. His normally crisp words are soft blurred.

“Okay” Karen says, rolling her eyes. Foggy doesn’t know if it’s at him or Matt, and tells him as much. Matt huffs softly when Karen flips them -- Foggy -- off because Foggy narrates that too. “Seriously, Matt. Bed time.”

Matt pouts, a normally adorable, heart-wrenching expression made even more pathetic by the still darkening bruise and dark circles under his eyes. Luckily, Karen is a stronger person than Foggy.

“No. Nope. You, Mr. Murdock, have a massive bruise. Not just on your face. But on _your brain_. As a personal fan of your brain, the storage place of all your blind puns, sarcasm, legal knowledge, and cocktail recipes, I demand you give it a rest.”

Matt huffs out a laugh. “Can I at least shower first? I just… I smell like New York asphalt and hospital disinfectant and it’s really gross.”

Karen’s face softens. Foggy tuts softly and says, “Yeah, buddy. Leave the bathroom door open so we can listen to make sure you haven’t given yourself an even worse concussion?”

Matt huffs out that soft little laugh again. “What? You’re not going to insist on coming in the shower with me?”

Foggy’s heart goes double-time and he inhales his own spit.

Karen -- as usual -- is much more composed. Even if she’s blushing too. “Not this time.”

Matt smiles, wide and open, eyes crinkled and cheeks a little pink. “Up to you, I suppose.”

"Ask again later!" Foggy calls out to Matt's retreating back, cheeks a little pink himself.

Karen and Foggy wait for the door to shut before they even look at each other.

“ _Thank God_ ,” Karen breathes out, wrapping Foggy in a tight hug.

Foggy squeeze back just as hard. “He’s okay, he’s okay,” he breathes into her hair. It smells like coconut.

They don’t let go of each other until Foggy can feel their hurried hearts slow and even then their hands stay clasped. Foggy looks at Karen and her eyes are shining a little and her cheeks are still pink and suddenly all he can think is how beautiful she is. She exhales once, hard and fast, and then lets go of his hands to scrub at her face and push back her hair. Foggy closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“Let’s go find Matt something other than a suit,” Foggy says. “He didn’t take any clothes with him when he went to the bathroom.”

“Does he still have your Columbia sweater?” Karen asks as they walk toward Matt’s bedroom. “Because that thing is so obscenely comfortable I think they made it out of angel eyelashes.”

Foggy smiles at her description. “Well, between the two of you stealing it every time the other one bothers to return it, I haven’t worn it in months.”

“Found it,” Karen declares triumphantly, grabbing it from the corner of Matt’s bed. “That wasn’t very hard at all.”

“Like you said, it’s obscenely comfortable,” Matt suddenly says.

“Goddamit,” Foggy shouts, spinning and clutching his once again racing heart. “Blind, _concussed_ ninja. I really am going to buy you a cat bell.”

And then he sees Matt.

He’s wearing nothing but a towel and his hair is still dripping slightly. The clear droplets slide down his -- well (very well) muscled -- shoulders and chest and fucking _cling_ to his abs. It’s ridiculous and Foggy feels so much better when he hears Karen’s breath catch.

Foggy manages to control himself when he sees the bruise on Matt’s face again as Matt steps further into his room. He reaches for the sweatpants Foggy hadn’t noticed next to where the sweatshirt had been.

“Oh! We’ll just, uhhm,” and then Karen spins away from Matt and towards the wall, pulling Foggy with here.

“Huh?” He and Matt says simultaneously.

He turns around just in time to see Matt finish tugging his pants up and it clicks.

“We turned around to protect your -- nonexistent -- modesty, you whorish whore,” Foggy says.

Matt huffs out a laugh as he pulls on his -- Foggy’s -- sweatshirt. “Sorry for offending your delicate sensibilities.”

“I’m flipping you off right now. So hard,” Foggy says.

“And I slapped him on the chest for you,” Karen says, maybe unnecessarily because ow.

Matt uses the towel on his hair again, humming noncommittally at them. His eyes are half closed and there are bruises under them but still so, so pretty without the glasses.

Foggy’s heart jumps and he silently tell it _fucking stop. we’re going to have a heart attack at this point._

“Go ahead and go to bed,” Karen says, more gently now. “Foggy and I will be in the living room if you need anything, and we’ll come in to wake you up every now and then.”

“Hopefully you can still quote Thurgood Marshall with a concussion,” Foggy throws in.

Matt flips them -- probably just Foggy, really -- off but climbs into bed anyway. “‘night.”

Karen smiles at him, small and soft and Foggy smiles too, but he doesn’t really know who he’s smiling at and that’s okay too.

“Good night,” they say together as they back away, pulling the door mostly closed behind them.

Foggy seeks out Karen’s hand in the dark hallway, and they walk together towards the light of the billboard.

“Tea?” Karen asks him in the living room.

“Food?” He counters, already making a beeline for the fridge.

Matt, as usual, only has a container of milk, plain yogurt, and some Chinese they had all ordered the night before. Foggy grabs the takeout, even though he’s pretty sure it’s just white rice. He sighs when he open it because -- surprise! -- white rice.

“Matt eats the blandest food,” he observes -- complains -- as he puts it back.

“Matt eats the healthiest food,” Karen counters from where she’s boiling water anyway. “He’s also a pretty solid cook.”

Foggy shrugs his acquiescence. “But he sucks at grocery shopping. So -- takeout?”

Karen snorts and opens up a cabinet. “Hold on.” She pauses and blinks rapidly before throwing a box at him and grabbing her own. Foggy looks down to see --

“Lucky Charms?” He says incredulously. “ _Matt_ has Lucky Charms?”

“And brown sugar cinnamon oatmeal,” Karen says as she shakes her own box. “This whole cabinet has stuff Matt wouldn’t eat in a million years.”

Foggy leans over to peer inside at a menagerie of junk food and processed crap. It’s _lovely._

“ _Matt_ has a secret snack cabinet?”

“No, you idiot,” Karen smacks him with her box. “He was a secret Foggy-Karen cabinet. Or not so secret. He told me to check the cabinet above the sink for food while you were talking to Claire.”

“Huh,” he says, peering in at a collection of his favorite cheese snack and potato chips and cereal right next a wall of sugary granola and oatmeal and packaged pastries that he knows Karen loves.

His heart doesn’t clench this time, but he does feel ridiculously warm and fuzzy.

He grabs Karen’s hand again and says, “We’re in trouble.”

Karen kisses his cheek and smiles and says, “The best kind of trouble.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left kiddos!


	3. coke and coffee carts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy makes omelets, and Matt tells a story.

When Foggy wakes up his neck hurts and his feet are freezing and his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. A PopTart wrapper is stuck to the back of his hand too.

“Ugh,” he groans, pulling himself up from where he’d fallen asleep on Matt’s couch the night before.

“Morning,” Karen mumbles from the other end of the couch. She’d been smart enough to lie down before falling asleep. And her feet were tucked under his thigh.

“What time is it anyway?” Ugh. He rubs at his neck before pulling the wrapper off his hand.

Karen fumbles for her phone on the table. “It’s, uh, 7. We have work in like an hour and a half.”

Foggy groans again and falls to the side, burying his head between Karen’s back and the couch. “I don’t wanna go.”

“Do you think we could get away with calling in sick?” Karen asks, twisting so that Foggy’s head is resting on her stomach. One hand twists his hair absently.

“You already skipped out on work yesterday,” comes a sudden voice from the hallway. Karen and Foggy both turn to see Matt slumped against the wall. “It’s probably bad form to skip again.”

“Buddy, I love you and you’re a very handsome duck, but you’re looking ridiculously shitty right now,” Foggy says.

And he does. The bruise on his face is exactly as horrifying as it was before and now there are dark, purple circles under his eyes. The oversized sweatpants and Foggy’s Columbia sweatshirt just enhance the pathetic-ness. The messy-just-woke-up hair is actually very attractive, though.

“Then I look at least two times better than I feel,” Matt drawls, heaving himself upright with more effort than it really should take.

Karen and Foggy jump up from the couch more than a little clumsily, but it turns out that Matt doesn’t need their help anyway and makes his way to the kitchen with minimal stumbling or swaying.

“How _are_ you feeling?” Karen asks, rubbing at her eyes as they follow him. Foggy very intentionally doesn’t tell her about the racoon eyes she’s now sporting, and Matt, well, can’t.

Matt hums noncommittally as he opens up the fridge. “I hear light is bad for concussions, so pretty happy I’m blind for the first time in a long while.”

Foggy huffs on a laugh, and Karen rolls her eyes.

“Eggs?” Matt asks, pulling out the carton and some milk.

Foggy walks over to pluck them from his hands. “Only if I’m cooking. Take a break, Mr. Concussion.”

Matt scrunches his face and Foggy is close enough to kiss the wrinkles on his forehead if he wanted to. He steps toward the stove instead and breathes hard through his nose. No, bad brain. Do not think about ravaging an injured man.

Karen laughs and Foggy’s pretty sure it’s because she _knows_ and not at Matt’s face. “C’mon, Matt. You can braid my hair for me while we wait.”

Matt smiles a little at that and lets her grab his hand to pull him back to the living room. “I don’t want cheese on mine,” he calls out over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah. Just tomatoes, you weirdo.”

A few minutes and three omelets -- one cheese and ham, one cheese, and one tomato -- later, and Foggy wanders out of the kitchen, carefully balancing the plates and feeling grateful for his past waiter experiences. He’s a little grateful, too, for the fact that the stove forced him not to look out into the living room because Karen and Matt are _adorable_. Matt’s got freaky hand-eye coordination for someone without functional eyes, and Karen delights in getting him to tease her hair into increasingly complicated styles by touch alone. When Foggy comes out, Matt’s just tying off the end of a fishtail braid. It’s a little simple for them, but Foggy credits it to the concussion and lets it pass.

“Fooooood,” he calls out. “We’re eating on the couch today for reasons.”

“What reasons?” Matt asks as he accepts his plate, smiling a little as he shifts so they can all fit properly.

“I dunno. Concussion reasons, I guess.”

Karen snorts and cuts into her cheese omelet. A few beats pass where everyone is just eating, the silence soft and comfortable.

Then --

“So do we get a story yet?” Karen asks, pointedly not looking at Matt, though he wouldn’t know if she was.

Matt’s hands still over his plate. He’s sitting cross-legged, one knee resting on Foggy’s lap the other on Karen’s, and Foggy can actually feel the muscles in his legs tense up. One hand goes to his face, and Foggy knows that he’s automatically reaching for the glasses that aren’t there.

“Um,” he says.

“Solid start,” Foggy adds, oh so helpful friend that he is. “After that you should try words.”

Matt doesn’t smack his chest or raise an eyebrow like Foggy was halfway hoping; instead he just swallows.

“It’s, uh. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Matt, I knocked you down a flight of stairs when we met and Foggy was literally naked when you met. Our group standard for embarrassing is already set weirdly high,” Karen says, bumping his knee up with her leg.

One corner of his lip quirked up. Not much, but a start.

“I, uh. I was at the courthouse for a deposition. But beforehand I stopped by the cart by the steps -- you guys know the one? --” Matt gestures a little helplessly between them. “-- to get a cup of coffee.” Matt’s picking at his -- Foggy’s -- sweater. “I went to pay, but after I’d handed him the bill, I realized I’d grabbed a twenty dollar bill instead of a five dollar bill.” (For a while Foggy had had no idea how Matt’s differentiated between bills, but Matt, being the smart, handsome, wounded duck that he was, explained that he folded them differently in his wallet.) “And when I, uh, tried to explain and get the proper change, he denied it. He said I’d actually given him a one dollar bill, and that I owed him more money.” Matt’s cheeks are pink now, and Foggy and Karen both reach out simultaneously to pat his legs. “He got really, really angry was yelling, and one of the officers came to check it out. But that just made him angrier, and I was just going to let it go because seventeen dollars isn’t worth -- “ Matt waved his hands vaguely “-- that. But the guy tried to lunge for me, only the cart was in the way, so the whole thing just fucking _flipped_ on top of me. I got knocked out by a goddamn _coffee cart_.”

Foggy’s mouth is gaping and so is Karen’s because seriously, what the fuck.

Matt’s mouth twists again. “And you want to know something else? We were both full of shit. Turns out I gave him a ten dollar bill not a twenty.”

And okay, Foggy can understand why Matt’s a little -- more than a little based on the blush and the fiddling and the inability to look up -- embarrassed because Foggy would be too. But it wasn’t Matt’s fault.

Karen beats him to it.

“Well fuck that guy either way. I can see and I hand people the wrong bill all the time. Shit happens. That’s not an excuse to try to rob your customers and then almost kill them with a coffee cart when they call you on it.”

Matt’s mouth has stopped its weird twisting and is settling into something almost related to a half smile. If Foggy was squinting.

“And I’ve seen Coffee Cart Dude. He’s like 5’3’’ and 130 pounds on a good day. What kind of shit was he even _on_?”

Matt huffs out a laugh. Foggy/Karen-1, Matt’s Weird Standards-0. “A rather shocking amount of coke, apparently. A Sergeant Mahoney called this morning. ‘s what woke me up.”

“I know Brett!” Foggy exclaims. “We grew up together. He’s almost a cool guy. His mom’s definitely cooler.”

This time Matt does smile. A little one, but a smile. It earns Foggy a smile from Karen, too, soft and affectionate. “I’ll be sure to let him know when I go to give me statement later today.”

“Oh you know we’re coming with you,” Karen says casually, picking her fork back up with the hand that’s not still on Matt’s leg. “What time is it?”

“You guys don--”

“We can always ditch work and follow you around like the creepy stalkers we are,” Foggy throws out, mimicking Karen with his hands, though a little clumsier because his right is on Matt’s knee and his left hand is not his dominant.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Matt says automatically, but he’s smiling and picking his own fork back up. “I’m due at the station at 2:30 this afternoon.”

“Perfect!” Karen says. “We’ll call it a late lunch and come pick you up.”

Another few beats pass while the three of them eat, linked by hands on knees and knees on laps.

“Thank you,” Matt says, sincere and quiet.

Foggy squeezes his knee lightly. “Now -- let’s talk _lawsuits_.”

Matt groans and falls back against the couch, and Karen flick a piece of egg at him with weird accuracy. And, honestly, Foggy can barely remember a moment when he was happier.

****  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Jesus, I'm sorry this took so long to get out. I haven't been in the best kind of place to write about everybody's favorite pretty little fuck-puddle, but I'm feeling a lot better, so I decided to celebrate with the final chapter of 'ask again later'. I hope it was everything you guys wanted.


End file.
